Sunday, December 25, 2011

Whispers of the Damned

The mask twists into a wicked sneer, the walls seem to echo in the wind

fat, fat, fat, fat, fat.

Hearing her sneakers thud down the pavement

fat, fat, fat, fat, fat.

Watching other girls as they go about their daily business

fat, fat, fat, fat, fat.

Seeing herself wobble in shop windows, in mirrors.

fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, FAT!


The voices scream louder and louder, drumming their message into her skull.

She looks at herself in a mirror and hears her own voice join the cruel chanting.

Slowly, sinking down, into a puddle of shame that begins to evaporate in the burning sun.

A tear falls, and splats on the tiles far below.

She rolls the tablet between finger and thumb, just how many of these seemingly harmless pills would she need?

But the lid goes on the tube and the container is shoved away at the back of the cupboard,
not yet.

She will tolerate the whispers of the damned for a little longer,
she hasn't seen New York.

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